


Dragon Age: Imperium

by Grievous_Girl



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: AU, Dragon Age - Freeform, Dragon Age 2 - Freeform, Dragon Age: Inquisition - Freeform, Dragon Age: Origins - Freeform, F/M, Fen'Harel - Freeform, Seraphina lavellan, Solas - Freeform, Trespasser DLC, Trespasser Spoiler, dragon age: inquisition AU, lavellan - Freeform, solvellan, spoiler - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-06
Updated: 2015-10-28
Packaged: 2018-04-25 01:56:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4942201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grievous_Girl/pseuds/Grievous_Girl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Warning - there are spoilers in this fiction. This is an AU Squeal to "DA:I - The Seraphina Story", and I wished to make a Prologue towards it as a placeholder for when Seraphina's current story is completed.  </p><p>"With a stagnation waving all over Thedas, despite a chilling of danger all about, Seraphina Lavellan sits in her Kirkwall home; heavily depressed in the months after the Inquisition had been disbanded. Seraphina does her best to find the pieces of her broken life and build it anew, but nothing that was familiar seemed to fit together anymore. Disipite the aid of Varric and Hawke the only cure for the Inquisitor's mood seemed to be in the friendship of Dorian Pavus. She goes to the Tevinter Imperium for a visit, a few of old old inner circle trailing along, and all gather under the young Magister's roof for a well needed reunion.  Come along again with Seraphina Lavellan and her companions as they take on yet another war tossed against the world, traveling across the Imperium to gather ancient magics to match the arsing enemy from the south. A old lover, a dear friend, rips open the sky once more and it will require the greatest sacrifice of all to determine the fate of all Thedas . . . "</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Prologue**

The child held her doll in skinny arms, walking about her little home with a happy hum in throat. Far away from the shadows of Arlathan, the quaint yet comfortable cottage was tucked away in the rolling hills of the countryside. Here, she and her family - or what was left her family - were safe and sound; their legacy guarded by the actions of The Dread Wolf.

But for all the good the Rebellious God had done, the child was oblivious to it all - knowing only that her mother would not be beaten by cruel masters anymore. In that fact she found utter bliss, naive to the great cost for such freedom. 

The little elf pulled on the front door, opening to the world about their home, and stepped out onto damp grass with a wide grin. She loved the way morning greeted nature; how things were crisp and cold, how the air tasted like water, and how fog would rise all about. She breathed deep and sighed, closing the door behind her, and wandered her way into the wood.

Grand trees with blooming flowers laced dark trunks, standing tall like ladies-in-waiting. Humble rocks were dressed in vibrant mosses and colorful mushrooms, the gentlemen to take their ladies’ hands. The babbling brook was the gossip of court and the buzz of bees acting as the minstrels, gathered in the great halls that was the Wilds. She adored her make-believe balls, herself the princess of them all when sat on the highest hill. For hours she would sit and listen to nature, inspired by it’s-

In that moment a thundering boom rattled her world, eyes set to the skies to see if there was a storm arising. There was no cloud to be seen, no sign of rain or hail for miles to see. She rose from her make believe throne, collecting her doll and waited for . . . something. Despite the nothingness her sight saw, there was something on its way; like a blow of the weather, but it made her hackles stand with ire. She felt like going home now, she felt-

Another boom, another wave, pulses beat into the ground and knocked the child back into the dirt. She groaned and clutched her ears, waiting for the ringing to stop. By the time she stood a green hue set to the sky, like an oncoming flood rushing to cover all. She screamed at the sight and her mother darted outside.

It did not take long for the Mother to claim the child in her arms, running as quick as she could from the approaching cataclysm. Miles behind them cities burned, towers toppled, lands had begun ripping apart, the screams echoing across the fade in terrifying choruses. The girl was screaming, crying, holding to her mother, so lost in the horror that she did not notice the dropped doll in the distance.

The Mother ran and ran, as fast as she could, but in her heart she knew the magic would be upon them soon. All would end. She had to use the Eluvian, a desperate and damaging plan, but she had no choice. Her child would not die before herself. The woman turned into a cave and went down into the earth, ducking and weaving deeper and deeper into the chilled stone. Finally a great cavern opened up and revealed the mirror sitting in its center. She bolted to it, calling out the word in her ancient tongue to activate its glowing facade. 

She sat her child down, ears pointed up and listened to the sounds outside for a moment before speaking. “My child, my sweet thing, be silent and listen. A veil comes to cover this world and you must go.” Her lean and long fingers went to brush golden hair out of the girl’s face, trying to smile for those tear reddened eyes beaming upwards. “Here, beyond here, is a land where you can go; far away from here.”

“Mother, will you come with me?” The little girl asked, tiny hands fisting in her mother’s dress.

“No. I cannot go. Not now, but maybe soon.” She brought the crying child to her bosom, trying to comfort her babe as best as she could, but she was running out of time. “Yes, soon. Soon I will find you and . . . and we shall be together again. Go!” It was a lie, but the lie that forced the little girl to sprint into the Eluvian; gone from her mother’s sight forever. She sealed the child’s fate, taking a stone and beating the reflection into shards; stopping any chance of the girl finding a way back to save her mother. It was done, it was all over.

The Mother could feel the decapitation of magic in the air, rushing towards her like a hurricane as she emerged from the cave. She strolled back to her house, claimed her child’s doll from the dirt, and waited. Her world had already ended.

**. . .**

That same child awake several years between the Fall and the present time, and at each wake she would add a few years to her life; growing up from the lone youth into the hardened woman that looked back in any reflection.

Her crown of golden curls still hung about her tan face, brown eyes and proud features staring back with the scars time provided; a wrinkle here, a blotch there. Still in the ashyness of her face there was the beauty of olden times, lean and lithe even in the dark. Her bare face and solitary lifestyle made living a tad easier, sticking to her shadowed wilderness for many years . . . until a familiar flash of green energy thundered into her life a second time; however, it did not rip the world asunder in its birth, it was merely a rift waiting to be stitched. Odd and unsettling. 

For weeks she spied upon those in charge of healing this wound, keeping herself far enough away to be undetected; a shadow at their doorstep and the ear in the night. And it was good she remained as such, knowing well what Wolf lay in this pack of Sheep. He had barely changed, stuck in slumber in a handsome perfection for the hundreds of years it took to get to this point. As a Little girl the Dread Wolf wore a cloak of fur and layers of gold, but now he looked no more than a commoner; truly a mortal man in this age of madness.

But what madness differed truly from their lost Arlathan in the light of this Andrastian age? Shocking and almost sickeningly, not much. Perhaps that was why the Dread Wolf stayed and she lingered on the sidelines, watching and waiting for their time to move. The time came quicker than expected - the Breach was sealed, the old elven orb smashed upon the mountain side, and the lone wolf cried to the moon; his heart heavy with so much loss. 

She felt for the old elf, honestly, but his next move would earn little more then her anguish. He gathered his forces, planned his goal, and swore to bring this new world to the old ends - seeming like a worthy goal, but even in this he lied. The Dread Wolf lied in the slightest ways, a master of trickery hidden in each sentence. He promised his people a new world, which he would deliver. He promised them new freedoms and lives, which he would deliver. And finally he promised the ever lasting life of old, which he would deliver. 

What he did not promise was that all these men and women, warriors filled with pride for the cause, would not live past it all to see the fruits of their labor. Many would die in the upcoming wars, in the raging battles, in the rebirthing fires, and in the taming of the freed Evanuris. The Dread Wolf had his suicide pact planned down with a detailed precision, but she doubted the arrow would hit the tiny chance he laid out for himself. In that error she could not stand by. She could not stand and gaze upon the Masters who beat her mother and forced the Dread Wolf to bring damnation come back to their lives; every aspect of their beings evil and earning her spite.

No. She would seek out a new plan, a better plan - one in the hands, or hand, of the only person who could ever tame The Dread Wolf’s passion. His Heart, his Vhenan, the little Lavellan who all but retreated from the world. With pack in hand and sword on back this displaced elf set out from the South of Thedas and into the North, trekking weeks and weeks of landscape to finally come upon the Tevinter Imperium. Here is where she would begin, here is where she would take a stand.

Here is where Mihrana, lost daughter of Arlathan, would finally meet her end.


	2. Chapter 1 - Aneth Ara

**Chapter One - Aneth Ara**

When Varric offered Seraphina Lavellan a safe place in Kirkwall, he didn’t think the retired Inquisitor would make it her grave. She wasn’t living, not really; merely walking on day by day in a droning existence. Slowly breathing, barely eating, hardly sleeping.

Varric had set her up with one of the better houses in hightown, second to only the abode owned by the Hawke family, and the newly elected Viscount figured the Elf would try to make something of her life in the better environment; it certainly beat staying in the now abandoned Skyhold all alone - for there was no one in the old fortress after the Inquisition was disbanded. To Varric that place was best left to be claimed by the wilds once more, a wound needing time to fade back into unknown history. He saw the pain in Seraphina’s eyes when someone would mention that distant place, those distant good times, and it unsettled him with great despair. 

To see Seraphina in such a state was unnatural of herself, the Dwarf feeling an odd and heavy responsibility for it all; even after Hawke assured it was not his fault. In light of his feelings Varric tired to take Seraphina out of her closed-off depression by walks in the City, work at the main keep, helping around the docks with her key, and even taking her out to card night with Hawke and Fenris. But still he could see her somber truths hidden in pushed pleasantries, even though the Inquisitor was grateful for all his help and attention. 

It wasn’t enough. Seraphina needed someone who could hold her, understand her, love her . . . _Dammit if Chuckles, damn you._

Varric would curse Solas every time he held Seraphina’s arm. She was colder, stiffer, thinner; like a walking corpse in the worst lighting. This was all Solas’s fault - Varric regretted ever writing in the Elven Mage into his works. Seraphina couldn't read “This Shit is Weird: The Inquisitor Lavellan Story”, her fingers shaking even at holding the leather bound pages; it only added to the hurt in her heart. She couldn’t even enjoy a basic Romance book, not like she used to. Every time the Inquisitor attempted to read something along those lines Varric would watch her repeat the nightmarish memories in her eyes, the scenes between she and Solas flashing behind teal tears. Varric replaced those books in her library with traveling adventures, inspirational sonnets, modern philosophies, artistic studies, anything to help distract his friend. 

Anna Hawke suggested Seraphina meet Merrill, that maybe the two Dalish would be able to become friends and it would lighten the Inquisitor’s spirit to have one of her own people there. That first meeting went well, until Varric’s innocent Daisy asked why Seraphina’s vasselian was gone; for even in the gutters of Kirkwall everyone knew the the Inquisitor was Dalish - there for she would have the blood writing of her people. Merrill did not know her fault till much later when it was explained, but the damage was done already because Seraphina only went to see Merrill if Varric was at her side; the Dwarf a shield of sorts to beat away past Inquisition troubles. Varric didn’t mind of course, he hopped that having him present would encourage Seraphina to come out of her deadened shell once more. Two weeks passed and after the awkward talks about The Creators and Fen’Harel, both Merrill and Seraphina came to grips with one another; friendly to each other. 

Another suggestion by Anna was to introduce Seraphina to Guard Captain Avaline and Bethany for a ‘girl’s night’, not that Avaline would ever submit to nail painting and the baking cherry cakes, but it was worth a try. The party was scheduled and surprisingly the night went on without a hitch; all the girls gathered in comradery. After Merrill had guided Seraphina home the Sabrae returned to Varric, reporting that the Inquisitor actually smiled, once, but it was something! A sign that Seraphina was still in her grief, somewhere deep inside, past the suffering Solas inflicted. 

**. . .**

Months passed and at each venture out into Kirkwall it seemed Seraphina was finally coming out of the shadows that veiled her ever since her lover disappeared - again. If Varric ever got his hands on that bald idiot he’d grant Bianca the free will to a trashing upon the mage with every bolt in her arsenal. He had seen too much shit befall his friends, to many years in just letting it happen, but not anymore, not after everything the world had achieved with their help. The final insult Varric would allow was the loss of Seraphina’s arm. He could not help but look upon the concealed injury from time to time, sticking to Seraphina’s right side obviously, the wooden prosthetic was good for little other than pretending a mild normalcy; it’s carved fingers curved to hold simple things like a book or a mug. But it was stiff and if struck a surface the arm would thud hollow, the barely maintained illusion broken.

Vivianne had sent numerous letters claiming she could find the people to manufacture a better limb, something much more fashionable and articulated, but Seraphina claimed she was fine with her present attachment. Varric didn’t add pressure to the idea, knowing that covering up the damaged past with something glossy and ristsy never worked. As much as Varric hated the fact the Inquisitor had to deal with such a cripple, he respected her determination to assimilate without heavy aid; in spite of the depression. 

Honestly however Varric thought that Seraphina declined Vivianne’s help because one of the initial designs the Madam had sent looked far too similar to a certain Elven gauntlet, silver and smooth; like a mirror. He watched the Inquisitor toss the paper into a roaring fireplace, a darkness set to her vision as she watched the drawing burn to ash. Both Varric and Anna Hawke had seen that darkened look before, concocting an idea that perhaps Mr.Broody himself might be able to help the Seraphina’s mood. 

After all - if Fenris could get over the fact he was married to a Blood Mage healer, as oxymoronic as that was, perhaps he could help Seraphina get over her own triggers with the rebellious Wolf-God. It had taken several long, tiring, fight filled years for Fenris to admit his fears and desires for Anna - and in all that struggle there were a good many tools he could pass on.

When Fenris and Seraphina were put into the same room was very much like how two feral dogs would look at each other, uncertain and uneasy as they tested each other's authority. In many ways they were similar, and in so many others the two elves were completely polar opposites; and it made for interesting debates of logic and fact. If Fenris had not been working on his attitude the past some-odd years, a slow acceptance of some mages and other obscure beings of the world, someone would have been walking with a bloody nose - but his hard heart had softened thanks to Anna’s unique existence, proving that anyone could be changed for the better. 

Soon Fenris, Merrill, Hawke, and Seraphina were out for long nights of drinks and fun; mostly playing “who could toss bottle furthest out into the Waking Sea”. The Liquor brought out many more smiles from Seraphina, and at times Varric thought he could see that young, happy Dalish girl at Haven shining back alive; rose flowers and lovely ivy crowning a warm, happy face. Just like old times. And yet it wasn’t enough, it would never be enough; the drunken healing only another insecurity cover for Seraphina to hide under. They hard to start diluting the Inquisitor's wines with lots of water to help ease the hangovers.

**. . .**

Another month rolled by and Varric continued to watch and help Seraphina when he could, but in later weeks odd rumors coming from the South set all of Lower Thedas on edge; his attention drawn away to keep Kirkwall calm in the unknown static. The Viscount had an idea about what could be causing the invisible tension, many across the lands had an idea if they were deeply involved in the Inquisition, but he dare not mention any of this to Seraphina; sparing her from the worrying theories. To help make up for his absence in Seraphina’s days, Varric would spend most of his evenings at her home, both sitting by her fireplace as they would read and write silently; taking comfort in each other's presence.

He doted on Seraphina, cared for her more than he should have, and as perceptive as Anna Hawke was, the Champion did not let Varric’s special attention to the Inquisitor go unnoted. 

It was a cool night as Anna and Varric walked together the tall female asking with a hushed voice. “Varric, correct me if I’m wrong, but do you fancy the Inquisitor?”

“What?” Varric’s brows creased together with a bemused smirk. He hadn’t been sure he heard correctly. 

“Seraphina, do you fancy her?” Anna asked again, the pair strolling along the docks as a chilled fog swept over them. In such weather it was hard to make out Anna’s deformities, her own defense mechanism when she did not feel like wearing a hooded veil. “As of late, Merrill says you’ve spent more time taking care of Seraphina then you have with Bianca.”

Varric gave a mocked look of hurt, a hand moving to gently pet the crossbow at his back. “Perish the thought! Bianca, don’t listen to the crazy Mage; she’s speaking nonsense.”

“Oh yes, crazy that I am and people may not listen . . . but I speak anyways.” Anna’s gnarled face hung in the shadow of an awning, the scars bending about a curious smile. Even in Anna’s born-afflictions she was so lovely, so kind and so soft, and perhaps it was in this shared fate of deformities that Anna and Seraphina got along so well. “You feel something real for her, something I haven't ever seen in you before. Don’t lie, your heart beat just escalated.”

“Feeling my blood move again? Yep, still creepy.” Varric said and they both gave a good laugh. By now “creepy” was a daily constant in Anna and Varric’s lives, just like breathing air or drinking water; an unconscious piece to their shared puzzle. They put said puzzle together and bathed in the odd images set before them, and Varric’s emotions were just a tiny segment of the bigger picture. He sighed and shook his head. “I’m not the one. I can’t be the one, nor would I wish to be. When Bianca came back, I couldn’t-”

“Afraid of what could happen should you to feel those emotions again?” Hawke asked, red and blue eyes set downward to the Dwarf. 

“Wouldn’t you? Shit Hawke, she needs friends right now . . . not another lover who would just walk out.” 

“You’d walk out? Why?”

“I wouldn’t do it on purpose, you know that. I just-” Varric sighed again, looking out onto the early still sea water. “My record would not be helpful. Not now, not ever.”

“Because of _him_?” Anna tilted her head to the side as she watched Varric, ebony and ivory hair falling about her wide shoulders. She found her answer in Varric’s slow nod, speaking again after a few moments of silence. “Well . . . quite frankly, _fuck_ him.” 

Varric could not help but choke on the air as he laughed at hearing Anna curse, the first time in their entire friendship that he heard a foul word escape her; coughing and trying to find his breath as a large grin moved across his face. They didn’t speak anymore on Varric’s feelings that evening, going their separate ways into the night; with Anna returning to her estate and Varric taking a quick stop at the Hanged Man. 

It was true though, fuck him. Fuck Solas. Seraphina’s heart was never going to be open for another significant other ever again, and neither was Varric’s given his own past sufferings, which gave a despoil upon any budding romances for the elf and dwarf to bloom together. the flower was long picked from it’s garden by Solas, the soil ruined for any future growth.

**. . .**

Anna Hawke and Fenris had a few talks about what could happen should Varric’s old Elven companion “set the world on fire”, mind you not in a literal sense, and it drew a terrible dread inside Fenris.

“I will not allow it.” The Warrior spoke with a gruffed growl in his voice, huffing some of his long white hair out of his face. His wife strode towards him, helping braid back his ivory locks as he spoke onward. “There is already an overwhelming curse of magic in the World and to many of us to go around fixing it. How could this Mage ever think that adding more will help ‘his people’?” 

“You’ve been having the dreams again?” Anna was the type of person to always see past the blunder of Fenris’s words, toss aside all bitterness, and draw out the core of an issue. Maybe it was her adaptation of Blood Magic that made her so insightful? She knew a person’s body inside and out it, more than any licensed Doctor ever would, and it gave her advantages when dealing with people. 

Fenris nodded and took a deep breath. “It’s . . . a calling. An Invitation.” Fenris’s gaze fell to the sheets of their bed, a flash of consideration caught there for only a moment. “He’s going to get them all killed, and for what?! Magic running rampant upon a world that would twists it’s purpose to disgusting ends? I should go, go and show him how-!”

The elf’s words were cut short as the woman tossed her arms about his shoulders and neck, holding tight to Fenris with blatant fear. “Don’t go. Don’t ever listen to those dreams again.” Her face was smashed into Fenris’s neck, hiding her face, but he could tell she was crying; her tears smearing against his skin like liquid fire. “I-I’ll . . . I’ll give you some sedatives tonight so you won’t dream. I won’t have you gone, I won’t have you taken from me. Never.”

“Nothing is ever going to keep me from you.” Fenris spoke with a deep possession, moving to hold Hawke in his arms as they lay together on the bed; his dark fingers running through peppered hair. “Nothing. Not even dreams.” 

“Good.” Her torn lips and a jagged cheekbone nuzzled Fenris’s chest as they held one another, lost in their horrid love. 

Long ago Anna would have never dreamed Fenris would embrace her like this. In fact she was certain, if not for the protection given from Eve Hawke and Anders, Fenris would have taken his sword to Anna’s neck and ended it all; a mercy killing. Thankfully luck was an abundant commodity in the Hawke bloodline, turning Fenris’s unrelenting uncertainty into unending admiration. For without Anna Magister Danarius would have taken Fenris back into enslavement, but the Blood Mage made sure the Tevinter was left screwed in jellied pieces about the Hanged Man with bloody carnage. It had been the only time Anna had used her magic to kill, and it was the her control of her sickness that pulled Fenris back into her heart.

But that was another tale for another time, and Anna had too much on her mind to think about old hates and past dates. For now Anna had her loves and her work, Seraphina particularly needing all the help Anna could offer. There was something off in the Inquisitor, something much more than Varric could have ever felt, and it was crying out in the Inquisitor’s blood; screaming with an echo Anna had not felt in a long time.

The last time Anna Hawke had felt such tones was in the presence of that old Witch of the Wilds. It warranted a bigger caution then Varric had given thought towards, and Anna feared for her friend.

**. . .**

Another Summer turned into Fall, and Fall into Winter that left Kirkwall in a frozen landscape; restricting the people’s outdoor activities. Indoors was warm and safe, secure and filled with heated hearths and good company. But not for Seraphina. She was alone once more as Fenris and Hawke stayed cooped up together, Merrill aided in helping the Alienage through the bitter days, and Varric had to deal with a frozen harbor and lack of supplies for the City State.

The only comforts she had were her books, her wines, and a chair that she barely left for days on end. Seraphina made a fort-like wall around her with empty bottles, re-read books, scraps of trash, and several blankets to keep herself hidden under. Well . . . there was one other consolation Seraphina had to hold to, but she always felt bad for contacting Dorian in her bad moods; twirling over the sending crystal over and over again in her clammy palm. 

The elf stared upon the device, opening and closing the locket to show off the crystal inside; lovely and gold - just like Dorian. She smiled and brought the trinket to her lips, kissing it softly; like an old friend. And Dorian was such, in fact he was that and more given how close Mattron and he had become. To Seraphina Dorian was, in a great sense, the only family she had left; a brother, Lethallin. With a whisper of magic the Elf and Human become lost in endless conversations, lasting hours and into early mornings.

Seraphina told Dorian about where she was, what she was doing (or the lack of doing something), Mattron, Lyra, Varric, and many other things. She knew Dorian avoided the subject of Solas to help keep her emotions relaxed, but his curiosity demanded to know how she was dealing over the loss; at least once. In that chance she spoke honestly, crying a few times, and Dorian listened; never interrupting a streaming thought or rambling speech. She eventually caught her breath and both remained very quiet for sometime.

Finally it was Dorian who spoke, sighing softly into his words. “You’ve got that sickening-sweet, puppy-dog-eyed looked to your face right now, don’t you?” It was a rhetorical question, they both knew that answer, but Seraphina could not help but look into the reflection of her wine glass to see the emotion set there. Dorian sighed again before adding. “I can’t very well leave you like this now, can I? Tsk, very well.”

“Dorian?”

“You shall come visit me.”

“What?” She hadn’t been sure she heard that right, sitting up to try and wrap her mind around the demand.

“I’m sure Varric can help pack up a few needed things for the trip. Surely He has the pull to gather a endowed caravan this time of year? You’ll need a an appropriate guard, several weeks worth of supplies, a comfy chair, and yes you must buy a new dress. Maker only knows how you can stick to such a limited wardrobe!” Dorian went on and on, the sound of a quill to paper as the background to his voice as the Magister went to work on making the trip possible. 

In the end it seemed Seraphina had little say to actually going or not going, stepping aside as Varric and Dorian sent ravens back and forth for days on end till the arrangements were solid. In what felt like merely hours, which in truth was actually a month, Seraphina had a carriage waiting for her outside her manor; the late Winter biting all around them. 

Anna, Fenris, Merrill, and Varric were waiting to give their goodbyes for the season; expecting to see Seraphina in the latter spring weeks. She gave each a farewell, a special hug for Varric and gentle kiss upon his heavy brow (unexpected by the dwarf as he gave a light blush), and entered the carriage's heated living compartment; settling in a long furred robe to keep warm. Her eyes were set to the window, watching her group of friends disappear in the streets of Kirkwall, and eventually Kirkwall itself become a child’s toy; a tiny castle so small that she could hold it in her palm as it shrank in the distance. 

“No going back now.” Indeed if she turned back Seraphina knew she would never leave again, a dooming fate that would surely kill her. This was better, Dorian knew better, and she couldn’t wait to embrace him once more.

**Author's Note:**

> Edits done by Solas-Harel on tumblr. More edits to come.


End file.
